What’s advantageous about this blog is the anonymity. I can say whatever I want to and just delete the post or delete the blog altogether if it becomes out of hand (but seriously, I dunno what that post would be about). It started out that way – me wanting to find some other place to vent all my candid thoughts out where no one would judge me. And then I found out WordPress doesn’t work that way. It’s actually a community of active writers, people who find you if they have the same interests, which is good. Although now, I’m hesitating a bit on the candid part. It is true – you become more of a person with others. And even though no one who follows me or reads my blog actually knows me personally (unless you are a really skillful stalker), I feel the need to be cautious on what I blog about.
I thought about that because of what I was about to write: I used to slash. Yep, as in slash your wrists, slash your legs, slash any part of you which would be covered by clothes, so people don’t see it and ask unnecessary questions which you’d have to shy away from. And then I remembered how people think others do it to gain attention, but the thing is, no one knows me here on WordPress, so the attention is futile. What I want to say is that I understand why or how it happens, at least one way it does.
My brother was the first to do it. He has clinical depression, and thanks to what’s happening in the family, it’s not exactly making his condition better. When my mom first found out, she was horrified beyond words. She despaired for nights about it. To cut it short, I did it, just to see what all the fuss was about. I’m not defending or supporting the idea, but it did give me an adrenaline rush. It makes you feel powerful, maybe it makes you feel assured that only you can hurt yourself, or you can use it as weapon to tell people who should be loving you to actually love you, instead of hurting you. It gives you the power to inflict fear in people who love you, to make them bow to your will.
Well, that’s a pretty… graphic way to put it. I regretted it the moment I did it, but it didn’t stop. Soon, I was getting addicted to it. Whenever my dad said something that really hurt, or something that triggered other painful thoughts, I did it. My brother did, too. The worst scars I have are on my leg. That was the first time dad had a seizure, and he had to undergo craniotomy to have an abscess removed. I didn’t slash because I was hurt about him and the possibility of him being gone. It was my birthday during that time, and I spent the whole of my semester break in the hospital with him, while my friends were vacationing abroad. But that wasn’t what triggered the slashing. I was hurt because even at that condition, he could still say and do such horrible things, things I wouldn’t dare recount for the fear of old hurt and anger bubbling up again, but for someone who could die any second, he was nowhere near forgiving, thankful or apologetic.
Now there are four slash scars on my legs, and every time I see it, I feel ashamed. Ashamed because I let thoughts of anger and pain be channeled into hurting myself, instead of towards something else. Ashamed because I was too weak to stop myself, that even though I confessed to be a Christian, I was not acting like one.
I have resolved this problem. There was just one day when I realized and promised that I would try and do my best to love my father unconditionally. This is not a joke – he is seriously one of the hardest patients ever. He doesn’t listen to doctors, and the ironic thing is, I’m going to med school this year. But yes. Sometimes, I still have bouts of anger. I would grit my teeth and go to my room and play Flappy Bird.
But that was the last time I slashed. And that was October 2013.
It’s April 2014 now.